


#dealwithit

by orphan_account



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:24:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RVB SHIPPING JAMBOREE 2014 FILL. </p>
<p>"Ship: Locus/Felix<br/>You're the annoying neighbor across the street that I can see through the window of and who doesn't know how to turn down their music, and I keep getting your mail AU."</p>
            </blockquote>





	#dealwithit

**Author's Note:**

> I might add a second part to make it seem shippier, but I didn't get any specific ideas yet.

There are varying degrees of ‘deal with it’ and the man named Felix, resident of 10119 107th has gone through every single one. Seemingly in order—Locus noticed that each one seemed to grate on his nerves just a little more than the last.  
  
The first one was harmless—the wrong house number being read, resulting in Locus finding a postcard addressed to one Felix. He didn’t pry by reading the note on the back, but it was impossible to ignore the design on the front of the card; a woman in a tiny bikini, smiling broadly on a beach with the words ‘Wish you were here!’ printed in cursive script above her waving arms. He lays the card on his kitchen table, continues rifling through his own mail—Space Offline, various magazines selling and providing information on new weaponry, and a single cheque from his place of employment. Pocketing his cheque and neatly cutting out an advertisement from one of the weapon mags before folding it neatly into his other pocket, he picks up the card once more and leaves.  
  
Drop the card off and leave, all within twenty seconds or less, thirty if it took Felix awhile to answer the door. That was Locus’ first plan, an efficient one. He should have known that it’d be thoroughly thwarted when Felix took fifty-three seconds to answer the door, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. Locus didn’t want to take notice of them, but it was impossible even for him to not realise that they were patterned with dollar signs.  
  
Before Felix can actually say anything, Locus is holding the card out to him. He opens his mouth once, then shuts it and plucks the card from his hand, raising an eyebrow as he looks it over.  
  
“Your mail arrived at the wrong house,” Locus explains as Felix turns the card over to read the back. “Likely just a one-time mistake. Have a good day.”  
  
Locus is turning to leave, fully believing that this was it, he’d never have to see those ridiculous boxers ever again.  
  
“Hold up,” Felix’s voice catches him off guard. It sounds much more calculating than he expected—which was that of a frat boy, maybe even slightly hung over from the night before. There was none of that in those two words; they were clear and precise, and had him turning around to face him again.  
  
 _Those boxers_. He had fifty-three seconds, couldn’t he have put on some pants in that timeframe?  
  
“You’re the guy from across the street?” Felix is tipping his head towards Locus’ house. “Nice place! I thought this area would be full of soccer moms and grandparents, but your place looks sweet. Expensive. How much was it?”  
  
Locus’ face remains impassive, even if he’s a little concerned. Who even asks that kind of thing right off the bat? “That is none of your business.”  
  
Felix raises his hands and takes a step back into his house, but the grin on his face doesn’t match up with his surrendering body language.  
  
Needless to state for any sort of record, Locus’ first meeting was mundane on the outside but everything but on the inside. He’s not sure what had happened, or if it was even intentional, but he went back home instead of out to cash his money and order a new rifle.  
  
The second degree of ‘Deal with it’ was something Locus would actually expect from a frat boy—which Felix was not, he found out, but resembled one nonetheless. Loud music, blaring nearly all night on a Tuesday when Locus had to work at five in the morning. He had gotten out of bed and had just finished redressing himself when the music suddenly quit and the house went dark. He waited fifteen minutes for the music to resume, but eventually went back to bed. An uneventful degree, but an annoying one.  
  
The next few weeks were relatively quiet. Locus settled on a new gun and placed an order for it, just in time for a new advertisement to come out. He only saw Felix when he was leaving his house, and apart from the one night, hadn’t heard a thing from him. He figured that this was how life was to go on now—he’d be able to go back into his routine of never talking to or thinking about his neighbours, and Felix could… do whatever it was that Felix does. What _does_ he do? It’s a curiosity that Locus pushes aside. They barely spoke to one another, and he had told him to mind his own business. Locus should do the same.  
  
That is, until a giant package arrived on Locus’ doorstep, addressed to Felix. It wasn’t just addressed to him, though—where Felix’s address should have been, Locus’ was. An easy mixup, since they were only one number off, until he notices the label more closely. The CARE OF: section is filled out with his own name.  
  
Locus can’t think of what reason anyone would have to send a package to him like this, so he cautiously categorises it into an unfortunate mistake. Without a sound, he lifts the package under an arm and walks across the street to once again wait for Felix to answer the door.  
  
This time, it’s fifty-one seconds and the boxers have a diamond pattern.  
  
“I received your mail again,” without pause, Locus is pushing the large package towards Felix, who doesn’t even shake under its weight. “I’ll speak with the office about it, so that it does not happen in the future.”  
  
And once again, Locus is turning to leave—he needs to get ready for work and send in a claim for the weapon he had ordered that had never arrived. He’d worked with the company several times in the past, and trusted them enough to get his weapons to him in a timely manner, but they were six days late and the shipping status had changed to _delivered_.  
  
“Oh, wait a second,” Locus doesn’t even turn around this time, but stands rigid in the middle of the driveway, listening to Felix scuffle around behind him. “Locus, right? This came for you a few days ago.”  
  
That gets him to turn. His eyes narrow when he notices what Felix is holding—his gun, or rather the case it came in, locked tight and covered in a bulletproof container. The packaging it should have come in—unremarkable brown paper, to keep its contents anonymous—was nowhere to be seen.  
  
“Why did you wait until now to return it?” He’s reaching for the case and Felix lets him take it without any trouble, offering only a lazy shrug.  
  
“I was busy. My time is worth a lot of money, y’know. Sadly, I just couldn’t get a chance to drop off your gun, but don’t worry—” Felix is grinning now, arms crossed as he leans against his door frame. “—I was definitely going to pay you a visit with it today.”  
  
Locus stares at him for a long moment, the stretching smile and the body completely at ease. He knew it was a gun. Even with the packaging off, nowhere on the case does it show what is inside, and there are no identifying model numbers anywhere but the weapon itself. Without another word Locus again starts walking toward his house.  
  
“Hey! Hey,” Felix. Again. Locus stops, turning his head enough to see Felix again. “Let me know how the range is on that thing. I’ve been thinking of getting something with some more… power. Those things are supposed to punch through tanks, right? I guess bigger really is better…”  
  
He’s trailing off, but not because he’s done talking, but because Locus is done listening.


End file.
